I Was Not Magnificent
by Aina Wordbender
Summary: The life and times of Aventus Aretino.


**Notes: **This is the first in a series of interrelated one-shots about my version of Aventus Aretino's life before and after the events of the Skyrim Dark Brotherhood quests. The stories will not be posted in chronological order but they will be set in the same universe. Fic is marked complete because each chapter can stand alone; I will be updating as inspiration strikes. Reviews are much appreciated!

* * *

**you're an angry blade and you're brave**

* * *

The guard's hand drifted to the hilt of her sword as the young man dressed in black approached like a wraith rising up from the autumn forest. Tall and lanky, he had the patrician features and honeyed skin of an Imperial, but none of an Imperial's penchant for clean cuts; his messy dark hair fell into his blue-gray eyes. He looked like a normal traveler, but something about him set the guard's nerves on edge.

She was hard-pressed to decipher the source of her unease. Was it in the way he moved? He didn't so much walk as insinuate himself through empty space like smoke… Then again, some people were just naturally light on their feet, weren't they?

Maybe it was something in his gaze. It was too steely and cold to be human. Or perhaps that was just a trick of the light, the effect of the languid sun flashing on those strange silver-shaded irises.

_You need a vacation, _she scolded herself. The boy was alone and unarmed, and an Imperial, to boot. He presented no immediate danger, although fathers of maidens everywhere would likely declare otherwise… Ah, to be young again…

But all true Nords knew that their instincts had saved their lives during battle countless times, and so, just in case, the guard kept her hand on her sword-hilt as the boy drew nearer and she ordered him to halt.

"Good grief." His brow furrowed slightly with annoyance. "Brynjolf is still up to his old tricks, I see. I assumed that he'd be retired by now, or, at the very least, that this ruse would have stopped working _years _ago."

"Ruse?" the guard barked, thrown off-kilter. "What ruse?"

Slowly, he tilted his head, as if studying her from a different angle with those penetrating eyes. "You know, the visitor's tax?" he prompted. "The shakedown?"

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she _did _know Brynjolf, and she'd heard stories about the old days. She shook her head and let it go. "I just need you to present your documents and state your reasons for wanting to enter the city," she informed him.

"How very… bureaucratic," he remarked absently, searching his coat pockets.

"Security measures have been tightened since the assassination attempt," the guard explained.

"I understand, of course," he murmured. "My thoughts are with your Jarl while she recovers from the ordeal."

"Oh, don't worry about her," the guard said confidently. "It will take more than the Dark Brotherhood to break Maven Black-Briar."

"Indeed." Having finally located his identification papers, the young man held it up for her inspection, flashing a lazy smile. For some reason, the tiny hairs on the back of the guard's neck rose.

"Aventus, of House Aretino of Windhelm," he drawled. "I'm just visiting."

* * *

Scents were doorways to memory; no sooner had Aventus stepped inside Riften when the smell of damp wood and cold water rushed up his nose and there, in his mind's eye, was Runa's golden hair shifting in the wind that blew over the docks.

"_They're called the Dark Brotherhood." _Her childhood lisp floated back to him across the span of years. _"They can make all your problems go away. But you have to call them first. You have to pray to their Mother…"_

The image faded as he made his way through Dryside and the sounds of the busy marketplace enveloped him. He pulled his hood low on the off-chance that otherwise he might be recognized. There was Madesi, a little older now, reptilian eyes milky and green scales dull, but still hawking jewelry with unctuous ease. Asbjorn was at the forge, his pose a perfect imitation of Balimund's, although Balimund himself was nowhere in sight. Someone who looked like Marise- a daughter, perhaps- was selling cuts of venison glinting with the white frost of Ice Wraith Teeth. Grelka's hair had gone to gray but she was still manning the armor stand.

Things were different and, yet, so much the same.

Aventus scanned the crowd for Brynjolf but couldn't find him. Inwardly, he sighed. He was left with two options, neither of them appealing- infiltrate the Thieves Guild, or…

Oh, well, since he was only a few paces away…

Squaring his shoulders, he walked past the marketplace and, with a resolute expression on his sharp features, pushed open the doors of Honorhall.

* * *

Several pairs of eyes stared up at him as the children paused in their chores to regard the stranger who had burst into their midst. Aventus stared back. Had he ever been that small? It was almost impossible to believe. These kids looked happier than he had been, at any rate. Clean, well-fed, not as sallow. There was a staggering moment of double vision and an eleven-year-old Francois was trying to smile through the cuts on his lips, one eye heavily bruised and swollen. Aventus blinked the image away.

"Children, _please, _I told you." A middle-aged woman came bustling in from the back room. "The sooner you make your beds, the sooner we can… go fishing…" She trailed off, brought up short, mouth hanging open in surprise at the sight of him.

"Hello, Constance Michel," he said evenly.

The rosy flush of youth was gone from her cheeks. Time had wrinkled her brow and worn grooves into the skin around her lips. But when she spoke, it was with the same lilting kindness she had shown him so long ago.

"Aventus," she breathed. "It's so good to see you. I almost didn't recognize- Well, look at you, all grown up."

There was pride in her voice, and it stirred something in him. Out of all the mothers he had known, Constance Michel had seemed farthest from the role, but also the most gentle.

"Can we talk?" he asked her.

"Of course." She led him to Grelod's old bedroom, shutting the door to give them some privacy. In the enclosed space, he was even more conscious of the difference in their respective heights. Before, she had always seemed larger than life. Now he towered over her.

"This isn't a social call," he began.

Her eyes darkened. "I suspected as much. After… after Runa…" She swallowed. "I had a feeling you'd come back to Riften. To say goodbye."

It was the way she uttered that last line. With so much hope. It revealed that a part of her already knew the truth of his visit, but she was denying it. He wished that he could have approached anyone but her. This, however, was by far the easiest way to get information. That little play-acting at the gate had served to confirm the rumors- the old Thieves Guild was gone; the part of it that was loyal to the shadows had died along with Delvin Mallory.

"Where did they take her?" he asked.

She froze, the conflict between her fear of the Black-Briars and her affection for her orphans playing out on her weathered features.

Mercy did not come quickly to Aventus, but he decided to make an exception just this once. "I merely wish to speak with her," he said. "It'll do her good to see a friendly face. It might make things… easier."

Constance Michel nodded. They both knew he was lying.

"Runa's in the Warrens," she told him at last. "Maven had it converted to a dungeon a few years ago. But the guards rarely let visitors in."

"I'll have to try my luck, then." Aventus turned to leave. "Thank you, Constance Michel."

"Aventus…"

He stopped, but he didn't look back. The life he had chosen was so much easier without looking back. He opted instead to stare at the wooden grains of the door. "Yes?"

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asked in an aching whisper. "You performed the Black Sacrament, all those years ago. You summoned that killer to Honorhall."

He didn't reply. She plowed on. "Sometimes I think that I should have spoken up, done something. If I had tried harder to protect all of you-"

"You should have," he agreed. He could almost feel her flinch. "But neither could you have stayed the hand of Sithis. If the Dark Brotherhood hadn't killed Grelod, one of us would have, eventually." His words hung in the air and they sounded like forgiveness, although he hadn't realized that there had been anything to forgive. He said his goodbyes and walked out the door.

So, Runa was imprisoned in the Warrens. Damn. He needed to face the Thieves Guild, after all.

* * *

Aventus bade his time until night fell over Riften in silky star-strewn waves. Once the shops had closed up and people had bolted their doors for the evening, he went Plankside, careful to keep out of sight of the patrolling guards. When he'd located the gated door which he knew from childhood marked the entrance to The Ratway sewers, he donned his masked cowl and then took off of his black coat, revealing the shrouded armor he was wearing underneath. He temporarily entertained the idea of throwing the coat into the water, but, no, someone might see it floating past and get suspicious. He decided to stick the garment behind a couple of barrels, where it melted into the shadows.

The first network of sewers was empty. Since the Warrens had been turned into a dungeon, the proximity of the city watchmen probably discouraged vagrants from frequenting the place. Aventus had no idea where to go. He silently cursed himself. He should have had a map drawn up or something, before embarking on this foolhardy mission. But time was of the essence. As he rode out from Dawnstar, his throat had been constricted by the fear that he was already too late.

He navigated the quiet maze of dank stone, which seemed to roar with the primordial kind of darkness that can only be found underground, dispelled by a few torches here and there. He kept a close eye on the walls until he spotted, after what seemed like an eternity, the Guild shadowmark. He exhaled in relief.

By nature, thieves were paranoid about the sound of a door creaking open. Heads turned and conversation ceased as Aventus entered The Ragged Flagon. Various eyes narrowed at the sight of his armor and various hands strayed to their owners' weapons once he had stepped into the light.

"Well, well." A booming voice broke the silence, a voice that Aventus would have known anywhere. He'd heard it every day in the marketplace, in the time before. "Look who we have here. So kind of the Dark Brotherhood to grace our humble abode with their presence." The speaker raised his mug, as if making a toast. "Pull up a chair, assassin."

"Brynjolf," Aventus acknowledged in a pleasant tone. He sat at the man's table, ignoring the penetrating looks from the other thieves.

Brynjolf's hair was threaded through with streaks of gray. He looked haggard, showing every sign of the hard times the Guild had fallen on after Mercer Frey made off with a sizable chunk of their riches. However, his complexion was flushed with the effects of mead and his mouth still curved easily into that jovial con-man's smile.

"I have to say, you people are _good," _he declared. "To have managed to get close enough to Maven Black-Briar to stick her with a knife. That takes skill. Pity the old bag also had a few tricks up her sleeve, eh?"

Aventus didn't say anything. He was busy scrutinizing Brynjolf across the table, gauging the other man's mood, searching for cracks from which information could slip.

"I know why you're here," Brynjolf continued. "But you're too late, lad. They're executing her at noon. Maven wants to make a big show of it. Wants to teach everyone that not even your esteemed organization can cross her."

Aventus shrugged. "Noon's several hours away."

"Aye. But the dungeons are well-guarded, and what makes you think you'll be getting any assistance from my end?"

"I claim the right of darkness." Aventus raised an eyebrow in challenge. "We both walk in shadow, do we not?"

Brynjolf frowned. "Do you have any idea how difficult Maven will make things for the Guild if she finds out we helped her would-be murderer escape? It is not our policy to displease our clients."

"She's not your client. She's your boss," Aventus shot back. "What happened there, Brynjolf? The thieves of old would never have let themselves be under a mere politician's control."

Brynjolf pinched the bridge of his nose. "These are new days, lad. We do what we must to survive."

Aventus saw his opening. It wasn't a very good one, but he had to take what he could get. "Then I see no reason why you should fail to help me."

"Making threats now, are we?" Brynjolf's eyes flashed in the dim light. "That's mighty unwise. I've been at this game a whole lot longer than you, my boy."

"You and I play entirely different games." Aventus leaned forward, lowering his voice. No need to turn everyone in the tavern hostile. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to set foot on Guild territory without some form of insurance? If I walk out of here empty-handed, or if for some reason I fail to walk out at all, a cozy ceremony's going to be performed. A small ritual, if you will. Contracts will be taken out on certain people who were too cowardly to lend aid. And you _know _what my crew is like when they have their contracts. But it doesn't have to be like that, Brynjolf, because I have something you want."

"And what might that be?" Brynjolf asked warily.

That was when Aventus put down his trump card, the one thing he had held to his chest all these months, saving it for an emergency such as this. "Mercer Frey's location."

Brynjolf was a master. Only a slight twitch in his jaw betrayed any hint of surprise or interest. "I do not doubt your word," he said slowly. "You would not come this far to stake everything on a lie. But I _could _keep you here until you give us the information we need. You're outnumbered, after all. Caught like a rat in a trap. Pun intended."

Aventus chuckled. "You've grown arrogant in your old age. Haven't you been listening? My colleagues already have their instructions. If I don't come back, the Black Sacrament _will _be performed, and _you _will have top billing. The Mistveil Keep assassin is one of our best, but she's not the Shadowscale Sorceress. Or the Ebony Prince." He gazed straight into Brynjolf's eyes. "Maven Black-Briar got lucky. How lucky are _you _feeling, son of Nocturnal?"

The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Brynjolf made a _tch _sound under his breath. "Ground floor. Fifth cell to the right. You can slip in through there." He indicated with his finger the door to the Ratway Warrens.

Aventus nodded, standing up. He threw a folded piece of parchment on the table. "Mercer Frey is in Cyrodiil. I've marked his hideout. If you want us to deal with him, you know what to do."

Brynjolf grunted. "Thanks, but this is Guild business. We take care of our own."

Before Aventus turned to leave, the other man suddenly asked, "You're a Riften boy, aren't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

Brynjolf grinned. "This is a sleazy place. You can get out, live somewhere else, but the grime sticks to your eyes. When you hightailed it out of here, you probably swore never to come back. But, as they say, all roads lead to Riften."

"That's where you're wrong," Aventus coolly replied. "For someone who grew up here, all roads lead somewhere else."

And then he was gone.

* * *

There were guards, but they were scattered few and far between. None of them cried out; only the briefest of sighs marked their respective exits from the mortal plane. By the time Aventus reached the cell Brynjolf had told him about, the Blade of Woe was slick with throat-blood.

The cell looked empty at first, but that was because its occupant was molded to the wall, sticking in the shadows. Old habits were hard to break. Aventus jingled the key-ring he had liberated from one of the fresh corpses.

"No need to hide, love," he murmured. "It's only me."

There was a flicker of movement, of darkness changing shape, and then Aventus found himself gazing into Runa Fair-Shield's hazel eyes through the iron bars.

"Took you long enough," she snarled.

Maven obviously wanted her would-be killer to go to the block looking the part. Instead of the standard prisoner's rags, Runa was still in Dark Brotherhood attire.

"I got here as fast as I could," Aventus replied mildly. The keys weren't labeled so he had to try each one on the lock. As he did so, Runa kept up a steady stream of chatter, telling him about the wild chase through Mistveil Keep, how she killed one of the guards and dragged the body into a room and managed to complete the Black Sacrament before her pursuers could break down the door.

"No one told me the bitch did magic," Runa groused. "I snuck up behind her in her study but she moved at the last possible second. I got her shoulder, not her throat. And _she _got me good with an ice spike in the leg."

"I confess myself surprised by your faith in our organization," said Aventus. "You know we do not rescue."

Runa shrugged. "It was worth a shot. And… I knew you'd come for me."

Aventus smirked. "How presumptuous." It was true, though. She would have done the same for him.

The lock finally gave way. He handed her a spare ebony dagger. She was practically vibrating with furious energy. Runa Fair-Shield, ever unsubtle, ever the Brotherhood's attack dog, hungry and eager when Aventus was patient and quiet.

"Let's go," he said. "You have a contract to finish."

Most of Runa's expression was hidden by her cowl, but her eyes gleamed in the darkness.

* * *

The moment the Jarl of Riften blew out the candle on her bedside table, she knew she had made a terrible mistake. Because there was a shift in the air, a moment of temporary blindness as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden absence of light… And then she was pinned to the mattress, someone's knees rendering her arms immobile, the cold metal of a dagger biting into her throat…

"My guards must have gotten cocky," she murmured.

"They're all dead," a husky feminine voice replied.

Maven had not gotten where she was by believing in grief, but she felt a twinge of it, for a second, for Maul. He had been her right-hand man for so long. They had grown grumpy and old together; now he was gone.

"You would have me walk on gallows-ground," the assassin hissed. "You would have sent me to my Lord in chains. But no one can stop the Dark Brotherhood. Not even you."

"I held you," said the Jarl. "I unmasked you. Never forget that, Runa Fair-Shield. I had your life in the palm of my hand."

"So did Grelod." The assassin put more pressure on the blade. "Funny how that works. Be brave, Maven."

"And what," whispered Maven, closing her eyes, "would the Dark Brotherhood know of bravery?"

Then it was over. But at least she had gotten the last word. That was the only way Maven Black-Briar would have agreed to die.

* * *

Shards of daylight began to trickle into the autumn fog as the guard made her way to the stables upon hearing a commotion there. The horses were restless, prancing about on trembling legs, filling the air with anxious whinnies.

"What's going on?" she asked Hofgrir.

The stable master looked harried. "It's that gentleman's mare," he replied. "She's been making the others nervous since yesterday."

The guard's gaze followed the tilt of Hofgrir's head. Standing a few paces away was a horse she'd never seen before- if you could have called it a horse- it seemed to be made up of smoke and shadows, rather than actual limbs and fur. Its eyes were soulless, the color of polished rubies, of freshly spilled blood gleaming in the firelight.

The guard shivered. "I don't like the looks of this beast."

"Neither do I," Hofgrir agreed.

The other horses were watching the aforementioned beast warily. They shook as if a sabre cat were in their midst. And, indeed, the strange mare did have the aura of a predator- the same eerie stillness, the same deadly intent. The guard half-expected her to charge at any second.

"Is Shadowmere bothering you?" asked a pleasant voice. "My apologies."

The Aretino boy had materialized at the guard's side, his hair rumpled and his black coat dusty. He jumped onto the dark creature's back and snagged the reins with effortless grace. Shadowmere reared up on her hind legs, snapping at the air. The guard and the stable master instinctively stepped back.

"Don't mind her," said Aventus, stroking the horse's mane. She nickered in response to his touch, although the sound seemed more like a growl. "She's an old softie, really."

* * *

Runa was waiting for him out of sight of the main gate, dripping wet from the lake she had dove into after scaling Riften's walls. Aventus extended a hand to help her up, but she ignored it, hauling herself into place behind him in one swift, fluid movement.

"Hello, pretty girl," she murmured, patting Shadowmere's side lovingly.

To Aventus, she said, "Let's go home."

Her small hands settled at his waist, and he didn't miss the way she pressed up against him, her chin almost resting on the crook of his neck. He allowed himself a small smile as they made their way back to Dawnstar.


End file.
